


the mad ones, or the year of 40 billion yen

by Anonymous



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: A3! Big Bang 2020, Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/M, Gen, Heist AU, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In some ways, Tsumugi doesn’t know who he is anymore. Those three years--had whittled at every part of him until he was left with only his bones--the things he was, and would always be. Tsumugi had just thought...well, he’d just thought that Tasuku would be there too, at the end of everything. But, then, there was no point dwelling on that now, was there?He takes a deep breath in, and then exhales, looking back up at the three of them.“I need your help,” Tsumugi confesses, and he tells them.(a mankai company heist au)
Relationships: A3!ders, Chigasaki Itaru/Utsuki Chikage, Furuichi Sakyou/Tachibana Izumi, Sakuma Sakuya & Settsu Banri & Sumeragi Tenma & Tsukioka Tsumugi, Takatoo Tasuku/Tsukioka Tsumugi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: A3! Big Bang 2021, Anonymous





	1. winter

Tsumugi shivers.

He’s forgotten, much to his surprise, how cold Tokyo can be. It felt like time and the world had stood still in prison, and while logically, practically, he knew that life went on--that there were jobs that had gone out without him and things that had changed without him and people...people who had moved on without him--but for Tsumugi, that seemed like an impossibility. The world turned around him, but he stood still, pivoting where he stood as he held on to how he had gotten here, and where he was going to go next. 

The suit he had been arrested in hung too big on him now, swallowing him up. He’d worn this suit with confidence, once--a good suit and a warm smile opened all sorts of doors, and that had always been his preferred approach--but now it seemed to wear him, trapping him in what it had once stood for, and not protecting him from the cold. 

He tries calling Tasuku first, standing at a payphone with what little change he has on him. But the number that Tsumugi knew by heart leads to nothing but an out-of-service message that he listens to all the way through, if only to prolong the moment before he hung up the phone. 

He’s expected this, imagined this moment since he had first been put in handcuffs. But it’s one thing to imagine it, and another thing to be living in that moment now, feeling the conclusion rush over him. 

“Ah,” Tsumugi lets out a deep sigh, his warm breath curling out into the cold. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to get used to the sound and noise of Tokyo again, a different rhythm to that of a prison cell. 

He’s alone. 

When Tsumugi opens his eyes again, he picks the phone back up, and dials the next number on his mental list. This time, the phone only rings twice before someone answers.

“Hello?” Tachibana Izumi says, and Tsumugi smiles at the sound of her voice, cheerful and familiar.

“Izumi-san,” Tsumugi says, “it’s me.” 

“Tsumugi!” Izumi near yells into the phone, and Tsumugi has to pull it away from his ear, his face hurting from smiling even wider now, the gesture unfamiliar after so long. 

Izumi agrees to meet him at a cafe nearby, and Tsumugi spends his last bit of cash on tea at that cafe, warming his hands around the cup as he waits. It isn’t long before Izumi comes bursting into the cafe, along with Sakuya, still in uniform, and Banri, who still has grease on his hands and smudged across his face. 

“Tsumugi, you should have told us you were getting out,” Banri says immediately, dropping gracefully into a chair. 

“Sorry,” Tsumugi replies, giving a little smile, “I didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“We would worry anyways,” Izumi says, “we’ve been worrying.” 

“Tsumugi-san,” Sakuya says, “are you okay?” Tsumugi looks down at his half-drunk tea, the liquid in the cup vibrating slightly with the movement of his hands, unable to keep still. In some ways, Tsumugi doesn’t know who he is anymore. Those three years--had whittled at every part of him until he was left with only his bones--the things he was, and would always be. Tsumugi had just thought...well, he’d just thought that Tasuku would be there too, at the end of everything. But, then, there was no point dwelling on that now, was there?

He takes a deep breath in, and then exhales, looking back up at the three of them.

“I need your help,” Tsumugi confesses, and he tells them. 

The three of them are silent when Tsumugi finishes. The silence settles, and Tsumugi finishes his tea in the space, fumbling at the noise the porcelain makes as it hits the saucer. 

“Damn,” Banri says, exhaling and leaning back. But then he grins, broad and unrepentant, a challenge in his eyes, “sounds interesting. I forgot how fun jobs are with you, Tsumugi.” 

“We should get Tenma-kun,” Sakuya says, “and I have a couple of other people in mind.”

“Definitely Tenma,” Izumi agrees, her fingers tapping on the table idly, her thoughts clearly far ahead of them. 

“Tenma?” Tsumugi asks. He feels lighter at their easy acceptance, like another part of himself is coming back to him. 

“Yeah, Tenma’s working on his own now,” Banri clarifies, “we’ve done a bunch of jobs with him while you’ve been away.” Sakuya nods, and Izumi makes an agreeing noise.

“Itaru-san, of course,” Banri continues, “no one’s better than getting into places he shouldn’t be than him, and he’s got that new boyfriend, what’s his name?”

“Between you and Juza-san, we should be set for transportation,” Izumi says, “but we’ll still need--”

“There’s this kid,” Sakuya adds, his voice overlapping Banri and Izumi’s, “picked him up earlier today, he’s one of the best pickpockets I’ve ever seen-”

Tsumugi watches them, eager and all in, and it feels like coming home.

“Guys,” Tsumugi says, raising his voice, and the other three fall silent, turning to look at Tsumugi. He smiles, feeling lighter than he’s felt in years--like the first time he had pulled off a con and walked away with the score.

“Thank you.” 

\--

Izumi offers--bullies, really--Tsumugi into staying with her, since he had let slip that he’d spent the last of his cash on a cup of tea. 

“Besides,” she had said cheerfully, “we’re just all going to basically be living out of each other’s pockets for the next year once this gets going. Might as well get started with it now!” 

They called Izumi the Director, because there wasn’t a job she ran that hadn’t ended in success. She had the unique talent of being able to look at a group of criminals, none of whom trusted each other, and bring them together to their full potential. Tsumugi remembers the first time he had been on a job with her--it had been Tasuku, him, Banri, and Juza. If Banri and Juza were partners now, they were absolutely not back then, and when Tsumugi had just been about to suggest they call it quits, Izumi had stood up, and asked Banri and Juza to come with her. Tsumugi never did find out what she’d said to them, but the two of them had been working together ever since.

That was why Tsumugi had asked her to run this job. Tasuku had always been the cautious one, when it came to the two of them, so in lieu of him, Tsumugi needed someone else who would be able to see clearly.

“Sakyo-san, I’m home,” Izumi says as she unlocks the door to what Tsumugi assumes is her apartment, although the nameplate reads ‘Furuichi’ instead of ‘Tachibana’, “I brought a friend, and I have a favor to ask.” 

“Pardon my intrusion,” Tsumugi follows, and then pauses, as Izumi’s Sakyo-san comes out to greet them.  _ Ah _ , Tsumugi thinks,  _ so it is that Furuichi.  _

“Tsukioka Tsumugi,” Sakyo says, and then looks at Izumi, “what are you up to?” 

“Hear us out,” Izumi presses, and then beckons Tsumugi in further, “come on, we can’t do this for free, you know.” Tsumugi looks at her, and then at Sakyo, and gives a little shrug, as if to say,  _ what am I supposed to do against the Director? _ Sakyo sighs, as if to agree. 

Tsumugi lays the whole thing out for him, over tea at first, and then, when he had gotten to the later bits, over sake. 

“It won’t work,” Sakyo says finally, his voice flat, “it’s too ambitious. There are too many variables with the number of people you’re thinking. How big is the take?” 

“Forty billion yen,” Tsumugi replies, pushing, “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve thought it through. I’ve had three years to think about it. It can work.” Sakyo looks at Izumi.

“It can work,” Izumi repeats, nodding determinedly at Sakyo. The two of them are having a silent conversation, and Tsumugi thinks again,  _ oh _ . 

“Walk me through it again,” Sakyo says with another sigh, pouring himself--and Tsumugi and Izumi--another cup of sake.

\--

The next few weeks are filled with conversations, more explanations, and a number of warehouses that Izumi takes Tsumugi to look at. Turns out, it can be rather difficult to find a meeting place to hold twenty-four criminals. With what Tsumugi has laid out for them, they assemble a crew, and finally, finally secure a base of operations. 

It’s this warehouse that Tsumugi walks into, shaking off the outside cold. Spring is coming just around the corner, and with it, the unlimited potential of starting something new. Sakuya, out of uniform this time, is sitting next to a scowling boy he’s never seen before, talking with--at?--him, as Itaru, and someone Tsumugi can only assume is Itaru’s new boyfriend, look on. Sumaragi Tenma looks like he’s being harassed by Yuki on one side, and Kazunari, on the other. Banri and Juza seem to have been caught by Sakyo, who looks to be in the middle of scolding them. Muku and Kumon seem to have been caught up by the combination of Citron and Homare, dramatically and, Tsumugi notices, definitely showing off something that looks illegal. That leaves...Azuma, mysterious as always, and Nanao Taichi, who is too inexperienced to know not to fall under Azuma’s spell. 

Heads turn when Tsumugi opens the door, those of them who do recognize him greeting him, but it’s Izumi who draws the most attention, striding in after, the suit jacket thrown over her shoulders fluttering behind her like some sort of cape. 

“Morning, everyone!” Izumi says, cheerfully, “thank you all for coming. Let’s get started, shall we?” Tsumugi is perfectly content to follow as she walks by, following the fluttering of her jacket sleeves as she makes her way into the warehouse and their briefing preparations. 

“I’m sure you all know why we’re here,” Izumi says, as she taps at her laptop, “but just so we’re all on the same page--” she gives one final click, and Kamikizaka Reni’s face fills the screen in front of them. Looking at it, Tsumugi feels--not the anger and desire for revenge that had originally driven him, every day in prison--but instead, a sense of determination, if not to reclaim what he had lost, to make even the balance of it. 

“This is Kamikizaka Reni,” Izumi continues, “noted businessman, philanthropist, art collector, and most recently, casino owner. We’re going to rob him.” She gestures towards Tsumugi, and he startles, as everyone turns to follow her hand, their gazes falling on him.

“You may or may not know Tsukioka Tsumugi,” Izumi continues, “if you do, you’ll know exactly why we’re pulling this job. If you don’t, we’re happy to explain later. But just to clarify, I may be the one running this job, but it’s Tsumugi-san’s job.” 

“Izumi-san,” Tsumugi says, feeling his face heat up, “it’s embarrassing when you say it like that.” 

“Is it?” Izumi replies, “I was thinking you should explain the rest, though.” 

“Eh?” Tsumugi hesitates, glancing back at Izumi, and then everyone else gathered. He’d always preferred to be in the background--a distraction or a stagehand, where Tasuku had strode front and center to be the main actor, the lead. But then--there was no Tasuku to hide behind now.

“The Angelic,” Tsumugi finally says, as Izumi flips the slide obligingly, revealing the building in all its intricate glory, carved stone and marble columns, “the Kamikizaka Group’s flagship hotel.”

“The Veludo Museum,” Tsumugi continues, “specifically, the Kamikizaka Wing.” Next slide, the museum with its solid, neutral colors, statues littered across a wide expanse of floor, and paintings lining the walls, swirls of sky that Tsumugi has looked at so many times he can name them even from the indistinct image they portray on the frame.

“The First Veludo Bank,” Tsumugi says next, glancing up at the slide, wooden panels and neat rows of windows lined up next to each other, like dominos in a row ready to be knocked over, “where Kamikizaka Reni has a very tightly guarded safety deposit box.” 

“And the Devil’s Paradise,” Tsumugi finishes, and he’s stopped looking at the slides Izumi is obligingly clicking through, as he strides forward, crossing in front of the projector for a moment, the light flashing and blinding him, casting his shadow across the screen, “Kamikizaka’s newest project. A casino that’s supposed to rival every other in the world.” How many times had Tsumugi heard him say it? That they were striving for perfection, striving to reach God himself, reaching and grasping. He’d never get there, Tsumugi thought. 

But it didn’t hurt to make sure.

“That’s the job,” Tsumugi finishes, “and Izumi-san has told you the take. If anyone wants to walk away, now is the time. No hard feelings, and I thank you for listening to me. If you’re still in....let’s get started.”


	2. spring

“The Star Jewel Exhibition?” Sakuya says, picking up the flyer that Izumi had set down in front of them. 

“It’s the biggest event the Angelic hosts every year,” Tsumugi says, “paradise for rare gem enthusiasts and sellers.” 

“And thieves, of course,” Izumi adds, taking a sip of her tea. Sakuya studies the flyer, his eyes flicking across the page from the text to the photographs, and back again. He’s just come straight from work, Tsumugi thinks. The time is about right for him to have left, and it’s also in the way Sakuya is dressed--his button-up shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, but still overall put together, like a real policeman.

The first time Tsumugi had met Sakuya, they had been on opposite sides. 

It had been before they had started working with Tenma--just him, Tasuku, and Izumi, rigging games and doing other small time jobs. They were young, then, and reckless. It was no surprise, looking back now, that someone had been assigned to look into them. That person was Sakuma Sakuya. 

It had been touch and go for a while--Sakuya was stubborn, and unrelenting in his pursuit of them. And while Tsumugi and the rest of them were careful, it was inevitable that at some point, they would mess up. When they did, Tsumugi had looked at Sakuya, and with a hunch, he had asked him.

_ “The place you’re looking for. Have you found it?” _

Those words, that question, had thrown Sakuya off balance--just for a moment, but just enough for the rest of them to escape. And Tsumugi hadn’t been surprised to see Sakuya again, after, with a determined look in his eye as he asked Tsumugi back,  _ “how did you know?” _

And of course, it was convenient to have someone on the inside of the police. Sakuya’s insider knowledge and forewarning had been invaluable numerous times, and Tsumugi was sure, would continue to be important moving forward as well. 

“We’re going to steal the jewelry Kamikizaka Reni has on display?” Sakuya asks, setting the flyer down to look at Tsumugi.

“No,” Tsumugi replies, “Reni-san doesn’t collect jewelry. He prefers art.” 

“We’re going to rob the whole exhibition,” Izumi says, “every last gem.” Sakuya lets out a surprised noise, eyes flicking to Izumi, and then back to Tsumugi, who nods calmly at Izumi’s explanation. 

“Security is going to be tight,” Sakuya says, “Kamikizaka-san has already requested that we send officers to the exhibition, and that’s on top of whatever private security the exhibition has hired, and whatever security these collectors bring.” 

“Yes,” Tsumugi says, “but because there will be so many security personnel, there will be much less technological security. Of course, I didn’t think we would have someone as skilled as Chikage-san with us, when I was planning this. If we can clear the room of the security, clearing the room itself will be easier, don’t you think?” 

“I see,” Sakuya says, his face scrunching as he thinks about it, “so Chikage-san will be back-up? Masumi-kun will be our thief.” 

“Itaru and Citron will be on the exhibition floor to assist,” Tsumugi adds, “and you’ll be our inside man on police presence. Chikage will likely have a more sophisticated way of emptying a room than my original plan, which frees up you and Citron to account for any last minute changes.” Sakuya nods, more confidently this time.

“Think we can do it?” Tsumugi asks, with a small, teasing smile.

“You should tell me, Tsumugi-san,” Sakuya replies with a little laugh, “who’s the criminal mastermind here?” 

\--

“I need the layout of the building,” Masumi says, “and preferable, a copy with the location of the vents and the layout of the ductwork.” 

“You’re going to sneak around in the vents?” Itaru asks, “seems sus.” 

“We’re criminals,” Masumi responds flatly, “off course we’re--” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Chikage interrupts, “you really don’t want to know. It looks like there are no unified blueprints for the Angelic. Look, nothing on file matches up from file to file.” He turns the screen around to show them, the different blueprints flipping across the screen. 

“That’s why I need them,” Masumi says, “if you want me to end up coming out above the ballroom, I need to know how to get there.” 

“Can we not bring Masumi in as another collector?” Citron asks.

“You and Itaru are going to attract attention,” Izumi says, “we need Masumi to not attract attention.” 

“The Angelic was designed by an architecture firm called Mizuno Architects,” Chikage says. 

“Can you pull the blueprints for the Angelic from their server?” Izumi asks. Chikage gives a wry smile at Izumi.

“I could,” Chikage says, “but in this case, I can’t, because it looks like they don’t exist.” 

It’s this problem they’re still mulling over when Tsumugi returns, as they throw out alternative roles for Masumi to play or routes for him to take. 

“Any way I look at it,” Sakuya says, “he has to go through the ducts.” 

“If we cannot get the blueprints,” Citron suggests, “why not get the architect?” 

“The architect?” Sakuya repeats.

“Yes,” Citron says, nodding, “an architect is an artist. They will certainly remember their work, no?” 

“The architect is Minagi Tsuzuru,” Chikage says after a beat, finger tapping at his mouse, “graduate of Yosei University, top of his class. Scholarship student, worked at Mizuno Architects for about two years now. The Angelic was his first major project.” 

“I would bet he remembers that,” Itaru adds, “you always remember your first. I remember my first time playing Knights of Round--” 

“Yosei University?” Tsumugi repeats. Chikage nods. Tsumugi gives a little nodding reply.

“Ah,” Tsumugi says, “I may have a solution.”

\--

There are bags under Minagi Tsuzuru’s eyes, but he looks alert enough as his eyes flicker from Kazunari to Tsumugi to Sakuya and finally to Izumi. 

“So let me get this straight,” he says flatly, “you want me to give you the blueprints for the Kamikizaka Angelic hotel, which you need because you’re going to use to break into, and subsequently rob.” Minagi Tsuzuru has nine brothers. He still lives in his family home. His two oldest brothers have moved out, leaving him the oldest son at home. His fourth brother has almost graduated from high school, and has been considering university. He used to go to school with Kazunari. The company he works for, Mizuno Architects, is run by his childhood friend, Mizuno Kaya, but it isn’t out of pity or nepotism that he has a job. 

Minagi Tsuzuru is an insanely talented architect. Tsumugi is no expert, but even he can see the beauty in the images scattered through Tsuzuru’s portfolio. They’re perfectly functional and cleverly designed buildings, yes, but there’s something yearning for the fanciful in Tsuzuru’s buildings, like the way a play’s narrative is constructed, solid and expected bones layered with something wistful over it, as if to say,  _ don’t you wish we could be more _ ? 

Tsumugi had asked Tasuku that, once, and Tasuku had shrugged back, nonchalant and uncaring. It had been Tsumugi who had taken the first step, pulling Tasuku along with him with their hands clasped together, until somewhere along the way, Tasuku was running in front of him, and then, their hands slipped, and Tsumugi was left behind.

_ Don’t you wish you could have been more? _

“Yep!” Kazunari grins, wide and unrepentant. Tsuzuru turns to look at him, his face still blank and tired, and then Tsuzuru lets out a long, deep sigh. 

“Miyoshi-san,” Tsuzuru says flatly, “you know I can’t do that, for many reasons, most important of which is that it’s highly illegal!” He turns, to look at the rest of them. 

“I’ll pretend you didn’t approach me today,” he says, “but please--”

“Minagi-san,” Tsumugi interrupts, his voice quiet, but firm, “can I tell you a story?” Tsuzuru looks at him, skeptical, 

“Let me tell you a story,” Tsumugi says, his mouth tilting upward, “I promise you you’ll change your mind.” 

\--

Tsuzuru agrees to help them. They leave with a rough sketch of the Angelic, and Tsuzuru promises to bring them the actual blueprints soon enough. Kazunari tags along with him, much to Tsuzuru’s chagrin, if his face is any indication, and Izumi receives a call from Sakyo, leaving Sakuya and Tsumugi to return to their headquarters together. There is a strange, quizzical expression on Sakuya’s face, as if he’s trying to piece something together.

“What did you miss most?” Sakuya asks. Tsumugi looks at him in surprise--of all the questions he was expecting Sakuya to ask, this was not one of them. 

“What did I miss the most?” Tsumugi repeats. 

“While you were in prison, I mean,” Sakuya clarifies, “there must have been something, right?” Tsumugi is quiet. He missed a lot of things, while he was in jail. He missed Tasuku, if he could snip off the last ten crumbling minutes of their friendship before he had been taken away. He missed walking by the florist’s shop at the corner of the street he always passed on the way to Tasuku’s apartment, and the way he could stop, sometimes, to chat with the owner about the health of his garden or any new plants that had come in that day. He missed the way Banri and Juza argued, like a dance or a song. He missed Izumi’s curry, the way it wafted out of what had once been her apartment like a lighthouse beam directing them up. He missed taking those things for granted, missed the way things were before, when they’d been wild, reckless, mad. 

“I missed being myself,” Tsumugi finally says, flatly. He pauses, wondering how much he should say, and adds, “it’s like I stepped out of myself, and now I’ve stepped back in. It’s strange. I feel like I haven’t been myself in so long that I don’t know how to do it anymore.” He holds his hand up, splayed out against the midday sky, and squints as he looks up at it, an outline shadowed in the light.

\--

When Tsumugi comes back to visit the Angelic crew the next week, he finds them in disarray. Tsuzuru has his head in his hands, as Sakuya gestures wildly, a nervous, eager look on his face. Masumi is scowling at Itaru, who is angrily gesturing at Chikage, who seems to be willfully ignoring them all, as Citron smacks a table repeatedly, as if trying to get all their attention. Tsumugi wonders how best to get their attention, but before he can do anything, it’s Izumi who strides past him, and claps her hands together sharply, drawing their individual attention away from each other and to her. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Izumi asks cheerfully, as if ignoring the previous chaos. She beckons to Tsumugi, who gives her a sweet smile back as he sits in one of the empty chairs. 

“Run it for us,” Tsumugi says. There’s a pause, as they all look at each other, before Itaru starts, hesitantly.

“Citron and I will be there the night before, posing as business partners from Osaka. The pre-exhibition schmoozing and sizing up will allow us to place these little babies all around the room,” Itaru says, picking up a small black dot from the table in front of him. 

“Don’t be fooled,” Chikage picks up after Itaru, “these things pack a punch. When I activate them the afternoon of the exhibition, they’ll send a tremor through the ballroom floor like a magnitude 7.0 earthquake.” 

“Which should be enough to grab everyone’s attention,” Sakuya says, “and then I’ll come in insisting everyone needs to evacuate the building.” 

“When they do,” Masumi says, “i’ll be waiting.” 

“How long did you say it would take you to get everything?” Itaru asks. 

“To grab everything? 7 minutes. To finish and not get caught? Probably 5 more,” Masumi replies. 

“So, 12 minutes in total,” Tsumugi says, “we have to keep everyone out of that room for 12 minutes.” 

“I don’t know why I’m still here,” Tsuzuru comments, “I don’t exactly have the right skill set for committing theft.” 

“Who knows,” Chikage replies, with a smile, “you could surprise us all.”

“It’s always good to have an extra body,” Izumi says, “in case anything goes wrong.” 

“Oh no,” Citron says, shaking his head, “do not say that. You will jinx us.” 

“Should I say everything will go perfectly, instead?” Tsumugi says, and he smiles, looking at each of them. 

“Again, thank you,” he says, after a beat, “you all don’t know how much this means to me.” 

“Tsumugi-san,” Sakuya says, stepping forward, “we won’t let you down.”

\--

The plan is underway when Tsumugi sets foot into the Angelic, sunglasses on his face and Izumi easily on his arm. As Izumi talks to the front desk manager, Tsumugi lets his gaze wander around the hotel lobby. There’s Itaru, sitting by himself with a newspaper in hand, Citron, talking enthusiastically to someone unknown, and Sakuya, in a corner of the room, a coffee in hand as he smiles easily at some other officers, laughing at something another one has said. Tsuzuru and Chikage had confirmed their room earlier, and Masumi had huffed a curt breath as he’d made his ways into the vents. 

“Darling,” Izumi says, turning her face to Tsumugi’s, “let’s go. Our room is ready.”

“Right,” Tsumugi says, and with an easy smile and a hand over Izumi’s, they walk away from the desk, towards the elevators, and not up to their room on the 15th floor, but to Chikage and Tsuzuru, on the 10th. He hesitates as they walk, head turning in a direction that Tsumugi idly remembers Chikage having pointed out earlier as the location of a security camera. His glasses—fake—slip down his nose, and hastily, Tsumugi pushes them back up. 

“Darling?” Izumi asks, her voice light, although her face is alert, eyes darting. 

“Nothing,” Tsumugi says with an easy laugh and smile, “just me being silly.” 

He remains smiling all the rest of the way, as they share an elevator with another couple, and as they get off on the 10th floor, turning down the hallway, where Tsuzuru opens the door for them, looking tense. Tsumugi doesn’t blame him--the first time is always the hardest.

“How’s it going?” Tsumugi asks, as Izumi slips out of his grasp and beelines towards Chikage and his setup, leaning in insistently. 

“We had a little hiccup last night,” Tsuzuru replies, “Itaru and Citron weren’t able to place all the detonators.” 

“How many did they miss?” Tsumugi asks, making his way towards Chikage’s screens as well now. 

“Only five or so,” Chikage says, “they’re working on the last two, now.” Izumi frowns, glancing at the clock.

“It’s almost time,” she says.

“They’ll make it,” Chikage replies easily, his eyes fixed on the screen--a few more clicks, and the cameras in front of him shift, to show Itaru on the screen, a empty, winning smile on his face as he gestures animatedly with his hands. 

Tsumugi has never worked with Chikage before, but he has heard of him. He’s a ghost, a nameless snake, a wraith who slides into computer systems and cripples them on the inside before slipping back out with whatever he’d come for. It was a surprise, not only to Tsumugi, who had been out of the loop for years, but Izumi, and everyone else, as well, that Itaru’s new boyfriend was the infamous ghost hacker. Even more surprising--or perhaps, not surprising at all, considering their relationship, was when Chikage had agreed easily to join them.

“Took you long enough,” Chikage says, as they watch Itaru’s hands skillfully press the last detonator into place as he bowed to the person he had been talking to, unsuspecting and unaware. 

“Don’t be mean, Senpai,” Itaru says through the comms, “not all of us are invisible like you are.” Chikage makes a considering hum, before declaring, “ninety seconds. Everyone in position?” 

“Ready,” Sakuya says, his voice determined and insistent. 

“Ready,” Itaru says, with a sigh and a shake of his head that they can see on screen.

“I’m ready!” Citron says, his smile clear through the comms.

“Mm,” Masumi grunts simply, a metallic-tinged sound.

“Alright then,” Chikage says, “we are live in three...two….one.”

\--

Itaru stumbles, as the floor shakes, and it’s Citron’s reflexes that catch him, hand steady even as he puts on a shocked expression, exaggerated and a little over-the-top. 

“What was that?” Citron exclaims, his voice pitched to carry. 

“An earthquake?” Itaru replies, his own voice rising above the noise. As if to answer his question, the floor quivers again, and the lights flicker, once, twice. On cue, Sakuya springs forth from the sidelines, two other officers flanked on either side of him and all three looking concerned. There’s nothing but authority in his voice as he speaks, soothingly but firmly.

“Everyone, please make your way to the nearest exit,” Sakuya says, “calmly and orderly, please. There will certainly be aftershocks with an earthquake like this and this room isn’t safe. Everyone, please, remain calm.” There’s a moment of collective hesitance, some beginning to do as they have been told, some glancing at Sakuya with suspicion, and even more looking at all their precious jewels, out in full display. 

“There’s no time to waste,” Sakuya says in response, and as the lights flicker once more, the crowd moves, Itaru and Citron blending in with them. As the last convention-goer leaves the the room, the lights shut, abruptly, and plunge the building into darkness.

\--

“Ready?” Chikage asks, his voice amused and tiny through the piece wedged in Masumi’s ear. 

“Mm,” Masumi responds, snapping his night vision goggles down. 

“Good luck,” Izumi says, her voice earnest. 

“You’re my lady luck,” Masumi responds, and with a neat, almost soundless jump, drops to the floor, right in the middle of Citron and Itaru’s booth. Feeling underneath the booth, he pulls out the supplies that they had conveniently stored--and then, he gets to work.

For the rest of the crew, it’s mostly a waiting game, and in Masumi’s ear, the rest of them are all quiet and tense as Masumi works easily through the room, slowly, methodically. His fingers are light as he works quickly--a necklace here, a ring here, bracelets, earrings. He scoffs, barely audible, at the arrogance of everything out in the open--the arrogance of people who believe that if there are enough armed guards around, there is no need for anything further. Well, that was what they were counting on. 

“Masumi,” Izumi asks, hesitantly, a response to his soft noise.

“I’m about a third of the way through,” Masumi replies, confidently, his fingers never faltering. 

“Better hurry up if you can,” Itaru says, suddenly, “they’re getting restless out here.” 

Masumi lets out another scoff, but, as much as he can, picks up the pace, fingers moving even more quickly in the dark. He can kind of hear it through their earpieces, the building insistence of people who aren’t so arrogant now, parted too long from their tables. But Masumi is almost at the end, has almost completed his way around the ballroom, and all he has to do is discard the goods at the designated drop point for Tsuzuru to pick up.

“Hey--” Itaru says again, louder, his voice urgent and sharp as any of them have ever heard, and the door bangs open, lights flickering on, illuminating not only the room, but Masumi, goggles on, a diamond necklace in hand. 

“It’s a robbery!” The man who had thrown open the door yells, which in turn brings more and more people in, and Masumi freezes, as Sakuya runs in as well, his eyes wide. Their eyes meet, and Masumi hears Chikage swear in his ear, the sound overlapped with Izumi’s question, and Tsuzuru’s nervous voice.

Masumi sees the thought come to Sakuya’s head almost as he thinks it, their eyes locked on each other. And then, in a flash, Sakuya’s face changes, hardening, and he raises his voice, “Thief! Stop!”

Masumi drops the bag in his hand and runs, Sakuya one, two, three beats behind him. There isn’t far to go, in a room like this, and with a heave, Sakuya tackles Masumi to the ground with a real grunt from both of them. 

\--

Upstairs, Izumi turns to Tsuzuru, an intense, focused look on her face as her eyes flick up and down Tsuzuru, sizing him up.

“Suit up,” she says to him, “you’re going in.” 

“What?” Tsuzuru asks, the word coming out like a yelp. 

“Masumi’s out of play,” Tsumugi explains, eyes fixed on the screen, Sakuya’s exaggerated actions, his voice carrying purposefully across both the crowd and their comms, Masumi’s continued resistance, trying to buy them as much time as possible, “Sakuya can lock the room back down as a crime scene, but we’ll need someone to go down there and finish.” 

“We all have our roles,” Izumi says, with a wide smile, “time for you to play yours.” 

It’s Tsumugi who helps Tsuzuru get ready, explaining quietly as many of Masumi’s leftover tools and some tricks of his own. 

“Is this how it started for you?” Tsuzuru asks him, looking intently at a pair of carabiners attached to his belt, “being thrown into crime?” Tsumugi smiles at that. It’s an involuntary reaction, the only reaction he can make to the thought of that long ago past, when he’d been young and baby-faced, confident that nothing and no one could hurt him, confident in Tasuku, standing beside him, and saying, low and only for his ears,  _ Tsumu, whatever you decide right now, I’ll support you _ . 

“Yes? And no?” Tsumugi laughs, “I knew what I was getting myself into. And Ta...and we were asking for it, a little. We were looking for an adventure. We were looking for something more than that, maybe. Did you know, they asked me, rather than T--they asked me first? Out of the two of us, he was the one who shined the brightest. But they asked me, and he--Tasuku--said that it was my decision. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with me being the one they wanted.” It was the first, and perhaps, only time that had been the case. After that, Tsumugi remembers, they’d always been asked on jobs together, like it was assumed that the two of them, Tasuku and Tsumugi, came as a set for a reason. 

“What was it like?” Tsuzuru asks, “the first time you stole something.”

“The first time I stole something?” Tsumugi laughs, a smile flashing over his face, “I was fifteen, and I walked out of a store with a bottle of apple juice.”

“No,” Tsuzuru laughs also, his face easing as if despite himself, “the first time you pulled off a job like this.” 

“There are no jobs like this,” Tsumugi replies, “but the first job I pulled with Tasuku, we stole a painting. It was a beautiful painting.  _ Someday _ by Ikaruga Hakkaku. It was a swirl of colors, and sometimes they looked like clouds, or flowers, or something in between. I stared at that painting for hours, before we met up with the client to hand it over. It’s still my favorite painting.” 

“How did it feel?” Tsuzuru asks.

“Exhilarating,” Tsumugi breaths out.

\--

Masumi keeps up the pretense, fighting and twisting his face and spitting whatever vitriol he can come up with, until Izumi says quietly, “Tsuzuru’s in place.” Then, and only then, does he let Sakuya overpower him, wrestle him into handcuffs and haul him up. Sakuya, with authority, tells the other guards to secure the perimeter and close the doors, and then, with Masumi still cuffed and in hand, announces to the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, please stay calm! As you can see, there has clearly been a breach in security and an attempted robbery. We’ll have to close off the ballroom, and we ask that you all stay put as we’ll need to get statements from you all shortly.” 

Sakuya excuses himself, Masumi in front of him as they make their way through the hotel, Sakuya already on the phone requesting backup. 

“Too many others,” Masumi murmurs, “that’s a bad idea.” 

“I know,” Sakuya replies, grimly, “but do we have any other choice? Who’d they send to finish, I wasn’t paying attention. Tsumugi-san or Izumi-san?” 

“Tsuzuru,” Masumi replies, “and he better not mess up any of my gear.” 

“I don’t have time for this,” they hear Tsuzuru hiss through the comms, “I’m not trained for this!” 

“You’re doing fine,” Izumi soothes, “you’re almost done.” 

“I hate this,” Tsuzuru replies bluntly, and then with a sigh, and the sound of a thump, “I’m done.” Masumi lets out a sigh he hadn’t known he was holding in, and besides him, Sakuya lets out a little pleased noise.

“Good job,” Izumi praises, “now, let’s get out of here.” 

\--

They meet back at the warehouse, hours later, to the sound of the news, others gathered around the TV as it reports the robbery.

“Hm,” Sakyo scowls, “this is more attention than we need right now.” 

“We planned for this,” Tsumugi says levelly, eyes fixed on the screen, “it’s within the bounds of what we expected.” Sakyo makes another displeased noise, overshadowed by the sound of Sakuya and Masumi entering, the last ones to return. Masumi scowls, rubbing his wrists, and Sakuya gives a sheepish smile, sweet and embarrassed at the same time.

“Sakuya! Masumi!” Izumi says, standing up and crossing over quickly to greet them, “I’m glad you two are alright.” Tsumugi follows, his own relieved smile on his face.

“Good work, you two,” he compliments, “Sakuya, your acting has improved since I last saw you.” 

“Ah, thank you!” Sakuya replies, turning his smile to Tsumugi, “I’ve been practicing.” 

“Tsuzuru?” Masumi asks, looking around for the other man. 

“He and Citron are securing the jewels,” Itaru replies, “don’t worry, we’ve already accounted for everything.” 

“Good,” Masumi replies. 

“Stage one clear,” Itaru says easily, “full party bonus.” 

“Eh?” Tsumugi blinks, but Chikage scoffs, leaning out to smack Itaru on the shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Banri calls, “just focus on keeping this combo going!” 

“Eh?” Tsumugi repeats, again. 

“It means, we’re next,” Tenma says, standing up, “and we won’t let you down, Tsumugi-san.” 


	3. summer

Ikaruga Misumi follows Tsumugi easily enough through the doors of the warehouse, not even fazed by the rising sound of an argument between Tenma and Yuki from within those walls. He’s humming a tune that Tsumugi hasn’t heard before, the kind of melody that slides up and down in an easy, meaningless slide, cheerful and buoyant. It fades, though, under the sound of Tenma and Yuki’s voices rising sharper as they get closer and closer, Tsumugi and Misumi’s entrance not stopping them at all. 

“--don’t talk to me like that!” Tenma yells, and Yuki scoffs, crossing his arms. 

“What, are you saying it’s not true?” Yuki responds, his voice short, biting. Tenma steps forward, as angry as Tsumugi has ever seen him, but Yuki stays still, unflinching.

“Come on, sit down, Tenten,” Kazunari says, a disarming smile on his face as he pats at Tenma’s shoulder, as if that is enough to stop him.

“A-ah, guys,” Muku says, his voice stuttering as he tries to cut in between them, anxiously looking at Yuki’s cool face, before his eyes dart to Tsumugi, entering.

“Tsumugi-san!” Muku exclaims, and that, finally, is what ends Tenma and Yuki’s confrontational standoff.

“Is everything alright?” Tsumugi asks, looking from Tenma to Yuki and back again. 

“It’s fine,” Tenma says, voice clipped, before he notices the extra person besides Tsumugi, “who’s that?”

“This is Ikaruga Misumi,” Tsumugi introduces, “he’ll be joining us.” 

“Hello!” Misumi says brightly, immune--or unaware--of the tension lingering in the air.

“Good, you’re here already,” Sakyo cuts in, and collectively, they turn to see him and Izumi, who looks pensive, a newspaper in her hand. 

“Is something wrong?” Tsumugi asks.

“Well…” Izumi trails off, “no. But…” She holds out the newspaper to Tsumugi, who takes it, and unfolds it neatly, reading the headline slowly.

“Kamikizaka’s Angelic Hotel Investigation Ramps Up,” Tsumugi says, eyes flicking to the picture of the Angelic, Kamikizaka Reni and police tape, “we knew that there would be press.”

“Not this much press, this long after,” Sakyo says, “it’s too dangerous now.” 

“It’s too late to change the plan now,” Tenma interjects, “we’ve already started--” 

“That plan is going to get you all arrested, or worse,” Sakyo replies, and Tenma scowls. 

“It’s fine,” Tsumugi says, suddenly. Sakyo, and Tenma, and the rest of them, all turn to look at Tsumugi, who in turn looks at Misumi, unaffected. 

“It’ll be fine,” Izumi says, her eyes moving from Tsumugi to Misumi as well. They’ve talked about this. 

“Here’s what we’ll change,” Tsumugi says, and he tells them.

\--

The Sumeragis are legends, in their world. Their names had been whispered back when Tsumugi and Tasuku had just been getting started, when Tsumugi was just a child with shaking hands and Tasuku hadn’t learned that a smile was more effective than a scowl. For years, many years, they simply hadn’t run in the same circles. And even when Tsumugi and Tasuku had gotten better, when Izumi had joined them and they’d crossed the Sumeragis’ radar, it hadn’t been them who had joined them on that job--it had been Tenma, their son, new and untested. 

There was an easy genius about Tenma—the way he covered for Tsumugi’s nerves and mistakes, the way he slotted in with Tasuku’s acting seamlessly. Izumi had looked at him, in the way that she did, and smiled, and pulled Tenma in, until he was regularly working with them. 

It had been difficult, perhaps, for Tsumugi to figure out what kind of relationship he would form with Tenma. For all they worked well together, he didn’t have the same open demeanor that made it easy to talk to Sakuya, or the informality that made it easy to connect with Banri. And yet--when everything had happened, before, it had been Tenma who had reacted the most explosively, almost frantic with the way he came up with plan after plan to acquit Tsumugi, to help him escape, to take some,  _ any _ , action. But Tsumugi hadn’t been in the headspace to accept his help, and Tenma had been beholden to his parents still, then. 

Had this been before, perhaps they would have been awkward about it, uncertain in the same way that they had been about each other. But Tsumugi wasn’t the person he had been before, and Tenma wasn’t, either. There was a confidence that had grown in both of them, born from different situations and manifesting in different ways--but with that, still, the same understanding between them, the same sense of loyalty, and reliability. 

It was Tenma, bringing in a set of small pots to the warehouse one day, six colorful pots that he lined along the windowsill as Tsumugi watched. 

“They’ll need a lot of care,” Tsumugi had said, coming over to finger at a succulent. 

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Tenma had replied, “you’ve always been good at taking care of us.”

\--

“Don’t touch  _ anything _ ,” Yuki growls, glaring at all of them, but especially Tenma. 

“Don’t you have a workshop for this?” Tenma asks, stepping gingerly around a large portrait hanging over the edge of one of the worktables.

“Yes, and it’s full,” Yuki replies curtly, “I told Sakyo we needed a second studio space, but he turned me down. Said it was too  _ expensive. _ ” Yuki sniffs, as if to emphasize exactly what he thought of that. 

“Wait,” Kumon says, slowly, “isn’t this from--that one too!--from the Kamikizaka wing? I thought that was the target! Did we rob the place already?” 

“These are all fakes,” Misumi pipes up, suddenly.

“Whoa, seriously?” Kazunari says, leaning in to examine a landscape, “they’re great! I couldn’t tell at all!” 

“Thank you,” Yuki says, “that’s the whole point.” 

“Why do we have so many fakes?” Kumon asks, “are we gonna sell them? Flood the market with fakes and make everyone question which one is real?” 

“That’s way too flashy!” Tenma protests, “we can’t do that!” 

“Tenma’s right,” Izumi says, looking up from a fruit study, “Sakyo was right. We still have way too much press attention from the Angelic job. We need to get in and get out with no one the wiser. One is a fluke. Two is a coincidence. Any more than that, and it’ll be a pattern.” 

“Originally, our plan was to steal this,” Tsumugi says, pointing across the room at a painting of a skyscape at night, dark swirling colors that somehow mixed together into a deep black sky, but retained color and texture at the same time, swirling and twisting into stars, the whole thing a splash over a scattered desert land, a lone tiny figure standing at the edge of the frame, as if to say,  _ see how big the world is _ . 

“Ikaruga Hakkaku’s  _ Thousandth Night _ ,” Muku says, “one of his most famous works, selling for over 100 million yen at auction. It’s been on loan to the Veludo Museum for the past year.” 

“It’s the jewel--well, one of the jewels--of Kamikizaka’s collection. He’s the one who’s lent it to the museum, and it’s displayed in his wing,” Tsumugi says, “if we could steal this and fence it--”

“We’d be very rich indeed,” Izumi says, nodding, “but we can’t.” 

“Why not?” Kazunari asks, “seems easier to steal one painting than all of them.” He gestures around at the forgeries drying around them. 

“After what happened at the Angelic, Kamikizaka had a lot of his items temporarily removed from display,” Tsumugi says, “we can’t steal  _ Thousandth Night _ because we prepared to steal it from display at a museum, not from a vault in the ground.” 

“Why not pick a different painting, then?” Muku asks, “surely there’s another painting that’s still on display that’s as expensive and as notable as  _ Thousandth Night _ .” 

“It’s about the effect,” Tenma pipes up suddenly, vehemently, “why steal one painting, when we can steal the whole wing? Doesn’t that send a much stronger message?” The silence after his declaration draws out, until Tenma looks away. Tsumugi has to smile at that, Tenma’s loyalty rearing up again. 

“It does,” Tsumugi says, and he means,  _ thank you _ .

\--

On a Saturday like this, the Veludo Museum is full of people--couples on dates, families, groups, hundreds of individuals meandering through the halls and exhibits. For all Muku’s nervous hesitance as he looks around, eyes lingering on the crowd around them more than the artwork itself, he still manages to blend in, drawing no more attention to him than Yuki does with his tasteful, but bright, outfit. 

“Alright,” Yuki says, drawing Muku’s attention back, “I’m done, let’s go to the next room.” 

“Yuki, you’re amazing,” Muku says, “how are you going to remember all these?” 

“I don’t,” Yuki says, with a shrug and a smile, the kind he only reserves for people like Muku, “but it’s about the feeling of the piece. I can look at photos of all these paintings online and match every brush stroke, but a stroke-for-stroke replication of something isn’t the same as understanding its soul.” 

“That’s amazing,” Muku says quietly, reverently, “that you can see that.” 

“Mn,” Yuki shrugs again, “don’t think I don’t know you’re the same, Muku. Of the two of us, you’re the one who’s always been a romantic.” He turns, leading Muku into the next room, a new series of paintings lining the wall. Yuki turns, letting himself take in the air of the room, the feeling of all the paintings, together. Together, what did this room say? What about that painting and this one made them fit together, like two notes resonating together to make something bigger than themselves? Yuki nods to himself, finishing his turn to set his path and begin his careful immersion into each individual painting, when he catches Muku’s wince. He scowls, reaching out to pinch Muku’s elbow, a nipping reprimand.

“Is your leg still hurting?” Yuki asks, “you should go sit down if it is.”

“It’s fine!” Muku exclaims, which does nothing to convince Yuki otherwise, face unchanging from the flat disbelief, but Muku’s face sets into stubbornness, making him look like his cousins for a moment--until the moment is broken, when Yuki steps forward--right as a deep voice asks, with a little disbelief and a lot of suspicion, “Rurikawa?” 

Yuki turns, and there is Takato Tasuku. 

In a moment, the atmosphere tenses.

“Tasuku-san,” Muku says finally, slowly, and Tasuku’s eyes flicker to Muku, as well. 

“Sakisaka,” Tasuku acknowledges, “what are you two doing here?” 

“I could ask the same question to you,” Yuki says, his voice guarded. Tasuku’s eyes narrow. 

“I’m not the one who’s a known art forger,” Tasuku replies, and Yuki’s face twists into a sneer. 

“No,” Yuki says coolly, “you’re just--” 

“Yuki!” Muku exclaims, and Yuki stops, abruptly. 

“There’s no law against appreciating art, no matter who I am,” Yuki says coolly, “I have every right to be here, just like you.” Yuki looks at Tasuku, unflinching, daring him to keep pushing. Tasuku looks away first. Awkwardly, a silence falls back over them. 

“Taa-ch---Tasuku.” All three of them turn at that, to the sound of Tsumugi’s voice, stunned and more than a little wobbly. Izumi is there with him too, looking just as surprised as Tsumugi, her fingers half crumpling the map in her hand.

“You,” Tasuku says, his voice flat and accusative at the same time. Tsumugi’s mouth opens, and then closes, wordless, and he swallows, something low and lingering flashing across his face.

“Tasuku-san,” Izumi says quietly, “it’s been a while.” 

“Director,” Tasuku replies, and then his eyes narrow, as he looks at Izumi and Tsumugi together, and then Muku and Yuki. 

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t,” Tasuku says finally.

“What makes you think we’re planning anything?” Yuki shoots back, and Izumi hisses a warming in her throat. 

“I’m not stupid,” Tasuku says, straightening up, letting his gaze linger on Tsumugi, still and silent, “in this world, there are no coincidences.” And with that, he turns, walking away briskly, back straight, no hesitation. It’s only after he’s disappeared from their view that Tsumugi unfurls, uncurling a hand he didn’t know he had clenched, and giving an approximation of a smile at the other three. 

“He hasn’t changed,” Tsumugi says. 

“Hasn’t he?” Yuki bites back.

\--

It’s tense. Tenma paces back and forth, Muku’s eyes following him as he makes his way across the room. 

“Sit down, you hack,” Yuki says, although there’s no acid in his voice for once. Tenma stops, but then whirls around to look at Tsumugi, intently. 

“Do you think he’ll stop us?” Tenma asks, “you’re the one who knows him best, Tsumugi.” 

“No,” Izumi answers for him, “Tasuku wouldn’t--” 

“Who’s to say what he would and what he wouldn’t do?” Tenma asks, “do any of us really know him anymore? I know I don’t.” 

“He’s gone straight, not evil,” Izumi says.

“He’s going to take one look at the news and put the pieces together,” Tenma argues.

“So we just need an alibi,” Kazunari pips up, “with an alibi, they can’t pin it on us. What we need is somewhere with high traffic, where we can be seen, but not be notable…like a nightclub! Look, my part of the job is pretty much done, right? So i’ll go and make it seem like we’ve been partying it up all night long while you all do your thing, and if the cops come to question us, we’ll have tons of pictures to prove otherwise.” 

“But we’re all going to be at the museum!” Kumon exclaims, “how are we gonna be in two places at the same time?” 

“Not at the same time,” Kazunari repeats, “you don’t need to be there until the end, and Yuki doesn’t need to be there except for at the beginning. Sumi and Tenten only need to be there for some time in the middle, and Director and Tsumugi won’t be there at all!” 

“You know,” Izumi says, slowly, “that just might work.” 

“Kazu, you’re so smart!” Misumi smiles, and Kazunari flashes a grin back. 

\--

“Run it for me again,” Tsumugi says, leaning back in the front passenger seat next to Kumon, driving. 

“Okay,” Kumon says easily, as the light in front of them turns green and he inches forward, bathed in that light, “well, we’re in the delivery truck with all the fake paintings, and--”

“ _ Half _ the fake paintings,” Yuki says, across their ear pieces, “the half that aren’t already there in storage thanks to Kazunari.” There’s the faint sound of a thumping bass resonating into Tsumugi’s ear from the club Kazunari had chosen for them, where he had deftly and swiftly secured them a secluded, spacious table and ordered enough alcohol and bar food for double their party. 

“It’s a lot of paintings,” Kumon agrees, “which is why Tenma-san and Sumi-san are both going in.” 

“Kazunari’s bribed the night guards,” Izumi picks up, “and Chikage-san has overwritten the security system and the cameras. I’m a little surprised at how easy it was to get into these systems, actually.”

“They’re being upgraded next week,” Chikage pipes up with amusement, “it wouldn’t be so easy then. Something about an exposed security flaw in the existing system.” 

“Chikage-san!” Kumon yelps, “did you do it?” 

“Why would I do that?” Chikage chuckles, “keep going with the plan, Kumon.” 

“Ah,” Kumon says with another pause, “well, the security system being masked means that we don’t have to worry about disarming each individual painting, so Tenma-san and Sumi-san will split the wing between them. And we’ll be in the loading bay, helping with loading and unloading, and once everything is done, drive away and go back to the club and take a looooot of pictures!” 

“Sounds fun!” Misumi says, his voice lilting up. 

“Piece of cake,” Tenma agrees confidently, with a smirk audible even over the comms. 

“Alright,” Tsumugi says, once again letting the feeling wash over him--of Tenma coming to his defense, of the team around him, who had listened to him and his own selfish plans and held out their own hands to help him, of Izumi’s trust, even now, in what needed to be done, “let’s go steal a museum.”

\--

Unlike the Angelic, Tsumugi has no visibility into the progress of the job--only the occasional sound of Tenma and Sumi talking lowly, Kazunari and Izumi’s nonsensical conversation at the club, and always, the faint pounding bass running through, like a heartbeat tying them all together. Every few minutes, Tenma will give an update--”first hallway complete, moving on”--or Misumi will make a considering noise, not quite confusion, not quite displeasure. 

“Everything alright?” Tsumugi asks. 

“Yes,” Misumi says, drawing the word out, “ah, I’m moving on now.” 

And it’s not like Tsumugi missed--misses--being in the middle of the field, the one executing the action. His own part is yet to come, as they’ve discussed. But rather, it’s the feeling that stillness is wrong, when he’s here--the feeling he should be doing something, pulling his own weight and proving he’s exactly what his reputation says he is, just as reliable and steady. 

“Tsumugi-san, Kumon,” Tenma says, “I’m on my way to you for the rest.” 

“Roger that,” Kumon says, and unbuckles his seatbelt to exit the truck. A beat behind, Tsumugi follows him, the two of them slipping into the silence and heat of the summer night, until they are met by Tenma, his face covered as they open the back of the truck, Tenma setting aside the paintings he had already collected before hefting the remaining paintings away and back into the museum with the same ease and surety he had practiced in the months leading up to this.” 

“Tenma’s gone for round two,” Tsumugi announces, “Misumi-kun?” 

“Be there soon,” Misumi says, his voice distracted. Tsumugi pauses, wondering if he should be worried, but then, Misumi makes a pleased noise, and says, much more pleased, “on my way!”

It’s not long before he’s there too, eyes crinkling at Tsumugi and reaching out to tousle Kumon’s hair, before taking the rest of his paintings and disappearing again as well. 

“Not long now,” he murmurs, and quietly, he and Kumon slip back into the cab of the truck. 

\--

It’s quiet again, even Tenma’s progress updates dying down as he gets closer and closer to the end. Finally, Tsumugi hears him exhale, deep and loud. 

“Done,” Tenma says, “should see Misumi about now--Misumi?” They wait, to the sound of silence, and Tenma repeats, “Misumi? Oi, this isn’t the time to go dark.” 

“Everything okay?” Tsumugi asks. 

“No, I don’t see Misumi,’ Tenma says, his breath picking up as he begins to jog, towards the half that had been designated Misumi’s responsibility.

“Misumi,” Tenma says, “where are--oh shit.” 

“Tenma?” Tsumugi sits forward, as Tenma turns and begins to run, hissing into the microphone, “I’ve been made! Kazunari, I thought you said you bribed all the security guards!” 

“I did!” Kazunari says, “every single last one of--oh no.” 

“What?!” Tenma calls.

“There was a new guard hired,” Kazunari said, “this is his first shift. He switched with someone.” Tenma swears, and Tsumugi leans forward more, before his head turns to look at Kumon, intense.

“We’ll have to pick up Tenma on the way out,” he says, “we’ll be sitting ducks here. Tenma, meet us at the corner.”

“What about Sumi-san?” Kumon asks

“Misumi,” Tsumugi says, firm and sharp into his microphone. 

“Almost done,” Misumi says, none of the usual ease or humor in his voice, “the corner. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Go,” Tsumugi says to Kumon, who hesitates, and then nods, starting the car and bringing it to life, pulling out of the parking bay, headlights off. Tsumugi pulls his seatbelt away from him as he cranes his neck, trying to see into the night. 

“Tenma-san, we’re approaching,” Kumon whispers. 

“Hold on, I gotta lose him,” Tenma hisses, and then there is the sound of squeaking, before Tenma bursts out through the door, running towards the back of the truck, and in one smooth motion, he wrenches open the door and throws himself and his bundle of paintings into the back and closes the door in one swift motion, banging on the side, a loud noise that reverberates. 

“Misumi?” Tsumugi asks, again.

“Here,” Misumi says, and where Tenma had been like a cannonball, Misumi was a shadow, slipping out from where he’d been hidden and appearing at the window. Tsumugi opened the door, and he slid up and in in one smooth motion, shutting the door as Kumon slammed on the gas, and with more speed than was probably safe or advisable, sped into the night.

\--

They went to the club, of course, after dropping off the truck at headquarters. The rest of the night passed in a blur of pictures and flashing lights--none of them seemed actually inclined to drink, still high off the adrenaline of the job and the chase. It was only the next day, gathered once again at the warehouse, Muku and Yuki efficiently sorting through their haul, Sakuya and Banri joining them to rehash out the night, that it slowly started to all come out. 

“But where did you go, Misumi?” Tenma asks, “it’s important that you keep in communication with us during a job and let us know when things are going wrong. If you were done early, why didn’t you come and help me? Or let us know?” Misumi looks at Tsumugi, who nods. 

“I wasn’t done,” Misumi says. 

“Yes, you were,” Tenma replies, “you were done by the time I was done, probably before.” 

“No,” Misumi says, “I wasn’t done. I had to get--” 

Muku gasps, suddenly, and they all turn to him, unrolling in front of him-- _ Thousandth Night _ . 

“You stole it?” Kazunari gasps.

“I asked him to,” Tsumugi says, simply, and Izumi turns her head sharply at that. 

“ _ Thousandth Night _ ?” Tenma repeats, “Ikaruga Hakkaku’s  _ Thousandth Night _ , the painting in the secure location that we said we weren’t going to steal because we weren’t prepared to steal it?” 

“We decided it wasn’t worth the risk,” Izumi repeats, “no matter what this painting means or what it can do for us. Tsumugi nods, slowly. 

“It wasn’t worth it, for us. For the job, it’s not important. Nothing we’re stealing is the goal. But I need it,” Tsumugi replies evenly, “and Misumi was willing to steal it for me.” 

“Why?” Sakuya asks, eyebrows knit together, “Tsumugi-san, what does that mean?” 

“It’s Jii-chan’s painting!” Misumi says, brightly. 

“Jii-chan?” Tenma repeats. 

“Jii-chan painted this for me and Madoka,” Misumi says, words that make sense on their own, but fail to give the necessary context for the conversation.

“Ikaruga,” Muku says suddenly, looking from the painting that Misumi has bound over to see, to Misumi himself, “Ikaruga Misumi, Ikaruga Hakkaku.” 

“Mm,” Misumi says, “I had to get the painting back for Jii-chan.” Gently, he takes it out of Muku’s hands, and holds it up, face bright as he looks at it head on. He falls silent as he looks at the painting, gaze intent and eyes flicking rapidly from one corner of the canvas to the other. For a few minutes, they watch him watching the painting in silence, following Misumi’s intensity.

“Tsumugi-san,” Izumi says, “what--” But before she can finish her sentence, Misumi lets out a gasp, drawing her attention. 

“This is fake,” Misumi says, suddenly and decisively. Almost collectively, the rest of them all turn to Misumi, his normally cheery face drawn deep into a frown, as he moves,  _ Thousandth Night _ falling from his hands, as he looks from each of Yuki and Muku’s sorted pictures to the next, looking from one piece to another, and the next, his expression getting darker and darker.

“These are all fakes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the big bang mod team, my artist, and my beta. i couldn't have done it without you, quite literally, because there was a good portion of time where i was certain i wouldn't make it. please also make sure to check out the beautiful artwork that accompanies this fic!


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